storms for lungs
by Carving Stars
Summary: I love you, he thinks. But he can't bring himself to say it, can never bring himself to say it, even as Jem leans forward and captures his lips with his own, the blood hidden away in their kiss a forlorn warning. Slash, no spoilers.


_**Summary: **__I love you_, he thinks. But he can't bring himself to say it, can never bring himself to say it, even as Jem leans forward and captures his lips with his own again, the blood hidden away in their kiss a forlorn warning. No spoilers.

_**Notes: **_The characters mentioned below and the series they belong to are not mine—Cassandra Clare holds all claims. The title is taken from Radical Face's ever wonderful song "Winter is Coming". There are no spoilers for _Clockwork Princess_, since this is set somewhere before the series. Plus, this was written during a nothing-to-do History lesson because I can't be the only one who loves angst-y Heronstairs with a bit of porn thrown in.

**storms for lungs**

Jem's lips are hard against his, pulling the breath from Will's.

Will curses weakly against his mouth and Jem laughs, harshly, wonderfully, into the kiss and he begins to pull at Will's waist, tugging him even closer until he can feel their hearts beating in time, a stuttering rhythm that doesn't seem to want to fail.

"Jem," Will whispers, trying to stop his hands at the laces of his trousers, trying to steady them before they can't turn back. "_James_."

"Yes?"

"You're not well," Will says. "You're not well at all."

"I hardly care of that at the current moment," Jem replies and Will can feel, can hear, a smile even though he can't see one. "I want you, William."

"I know you do, but Jem—"

"No," Jem interrupts. "No, do not worry about me right now. Just… just take me, William. You must understand—I need to be with you."

Will groans, trying to deny himself the pleasure Jem is forcing to course fast through his veins, lighting his blood with fire and heat and a love he shouldn't – can't, can never, will never, be able to – have for him. "I despise when you speak like that."

"Oh, you adore it," Jem teases, but his voice is a low sound, and he tugs down Will's trousers not a second later, only coming back up to slip his shirt up off his body. When Will doesn't reply, his body too busy responding even though his mind is telling him _no_, _no_, _Jem's not well right now_, Jem bites down lightly on his collarbone, causing a quiet gasp to form on Will's bruising lips.

"And," Jem adds, drawling the words out slowly, his lips like glass against Will's skin, "you love this, too. I know you do."

Will makes a sound in the back of his throat. It may be a held back moan. "Don't think too highly of yourself, James," he warns, "for we all know that that can always come crashing down."

"Oh?" Will could be wrong, but he's sure he hears laughter in Jem's voice. He may even be able to feel it against his skin. He pulls back, his silver eyes bright with the new intake of the drug, and he smiles, says, "I think we are both willing to take that risk just one more time. Don't you believe so, too, William?"

Jem's fingertips are tracing cuts along his sides, Will's skin splintering underneath his touch with a winter chill that doesn't belong to the season hanging in the placid air outside the Institute's windows. There's something of a far-long winter in Jem's eyes, too, like he knows his fate, has resigned himself to it, and is no longer willing to hope for anything different than how he has been told his life will end. The crimson color spread across the porcelain sink in his washroom gives away his fears, and the oddly reddened tint to his lips that he hasn't gotten from kissing Will gives away the truth.

Will watches him, almost carefully.

_I love you, _he thinks. But he can't bring himself to say it, can never bring himself to say it, even as Jem leans forward and captures his lips with his own again, the taste of bitter blood hidden away in their kiss a forlorn warning Will doesn't want to accept.

(He doesn't think he'll ever accept it, even after Jem's room is cleared of everything that has ever made the room _his_, even after the sweet scent of burning sugar has left every crack and crater of their home's walls, even after Jem's voice has become a phantom of a past life Will no longer belongs to.)

He shuts his eyes, forcing back another moan, as Jem slips his hand down between them, mouth parted with his own shuddering breath. Will swallows back the words that don't mean anything to Jem at the moment as Jem swipes the pad of his thumb over the head of Will's cock, the press of his mouth against Will's a sharp comfort Will has finally allowed himself feel.

"Jem."

"Hm?"

He cannot say the words he wants to say, and the words he can say Jem will not listen to. Instead he whispers, his voice so quiet that he's sure the words won't pass his lips, "Let me make love to you."

Jem smiles now, a soft smile that hides the lust but doesn't hide the pain. He says, "You can do that as many times as you want, over and over and over again until our Stamina Runes no longer work."

"But it is—"

"It is forbidden, yes," Jem agrees. "But not if we are not in love with each other. We're not in love with one another, are we? I thought we've discussed this well enough before, William."

He doesn't sound patronizing in the slightest, but it's Jem and Jem never looks down on anyone, least of all Will. Will wants to tell him that, yes, they're in love, at least he's in love, and that being together like they have been increases every emotion Will has ever had for him until it feels as if he may burst if he does not say those words soon enough but Jem's bending down now to outline Will's collarbones with kisses that burn away the winter chill wrapped around his body with a summer heat that doesn't feel quite right either.

Against his skin, Jem notes faintly, "You did not say no."

Will's throat has gone dry, whether from Jem's lips or his touch or his words he is not sure. He swallows down the sandpaper, past it, manages to say as strong as he can, "I do not know if I _can _say no."

Jem's eyes meet his once more, for a minute that only composes silence, until they both have to look away; parabatais do not fall in love with each other, no matter what their minds and bodies and hearts try to tell them. But Will knows better to try to convince himself that he is not in love with his own parabatai—it's always there, always hanging on the edge of his thoughts, always begging to be said, always clogging his throat in moments like these.

When Jem runs a hand up the length of his shaft, Will's head falls back against the headboard, a dull clunk resounding throughout the wood. But then Jem's touch is gone within the next second, only a whisper of it left behind, and he's off the bed, on his knees on the floor, searching in the low drawer of the nightstand placed next to the bed.

They've done this before, one time when they were younger, stupider, wanting to experiment with only one another, and many more times that are much more recent: when Jem's eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones in the dead of night, when Will wakes up from a nightmare of blood spread across the floor of Jem's room, when their training becomes too intense and neither can no longer handle it, when Jem speaks to him, slowly, softly, in Chinese, when Will slips up and an endearment – maybe _cariad_, possibly _annwyl_ – in Welsh comes from his mouth, when Jem presses his hand to the Rune connecting them to one another over Will's chest and when Will runs his fingers carefully over the one placed in the curve, hollow, dip of Jem's throat.

He wants to say it, wants to tell Jem that he loves him with everything he has and more, but Jem won't him—because then they would be taken from one another. But he's sure Jem can tell from the way he watches, is watching, him, and he's sure he can tell by the way Jem is running his hand down his chest now like Will holds all the answers to the questions Jem has never even dreamt of to ask.

"You are wonderful, James," Will says and, maybe, that's the closest he'll ever come to telling him the truth.

Jem answers with a smile, with a touch, and the whispered words of, "_Wǒ shǔyú nǐ_, William."


End file.
